Chapter 13 #2
A moment later, my thoughts drift to Frankie.
How lost she sometimes looked when she thought no one was watching.
How Lucky had been so desperate to fill that hole in her life left by her abandonment.
And by the way Kirill spoke of his niece, it sounds like there’s been a missing gap in his family too.
A hole they were desperate to fill—by finding Frankie.
I can’t be upset. Sure, I’m butthurt that Kirill used me like that, but I can’t fault him for doing everything he could to find his family.
I just wish I didn’t feel so used. As if I didn’t mean anything to him.
Damn it. Why do I even care? It’s not like Kirill means anything to me. He was just a pastime. Something to entertain myself with. Nothing more. So why does his deceit hurt so much? Why does this ache in my chest hurt so goddamn much?
Thankfully, I don’t get to dwell on that for long, since Kirill returns with my brother.
“Fuck, you’re okay,” Lucky rushes into the room, dropping into the chair beside me, real fear still lingering in his eyes. “For a second there, I thought we were going to lose you.”
“I’m made of harder stuff than that,” I say, giving him a reassuring smile.
Lucky lets out a long exhale, genuinely relieved I didn’t kick the bucket. As if a little bullet could ever stop me. Still, we’re not out of the woods yet.
My gaze falls away from my brother’s relieved expression to land on the man in black, leaning against the door.
“You can go now.” His jaw ticks, but he refuses to do as I say. “I’d like to have a private moment with my brother. Is that alright with you, or do you need permission from the warden?”
“She said leave, motherfucker!” Lucky piles on, his glare even more venomous than mine.
“I’ll be outside if you need me,” Kirill says, finally doing as requested.
When he shuts the door behind him, I lock eyes with my brother, needing to know everything that transpired while I was out of commission.
“Tell me everything. I want to know exactly why the fuck we’re stranded in Russia right now.”
Lucky spends the next hour walking me through everything, from the tiniest details to the harshest truths, without a single shortcut or bit of sugarcoating.
“Damn it, Lucky. You sure know how to pick ‘em,” I let out an exhale after he’s finished.
“This isn’t Frankie’s fault. She’s never seen these people before in her life.”
“Well, these people, as you call them, are her family. Her true family. Are you okay with that?”
“Honestly? No. All of this feels… off. They’re all treating her like…like…I don’t know. It’s like they put her on a pedestal. Like she’s some saint or something.”
“You mean like a lost Bratva princess coming home? Of course they’re going to pull out all the stops for her. Wouldn’t you if the tables were reversed?”
“I guess.” He shrugs, unconvinced. “What about you? How are you holding up?” he asks, needing a breather from the drama that is Frankie’s newfound family.
“I could be better. But hey, I’ll survive.” Lucky’s expression shifts, concern tightening his jaw.
“What is it?”
“I wasn’t the only one freaking out when you got shot. That bastard Kirill looked like he was about to lose his shit when he thought he couldn’t save you.”
“He puts on a good show. I’ll give him that.”
My brother’s temple wrinkles. “That’s all you’re gonna give me?”
“What do you mean?”
Lucky drags a hand through his hair in frustration. “He looked like he knew you, Stella. And all too well, I might add. How is that possible if you two only met once?”
“I don’t know,” I lie. “Maybe I left an impression on him. I have been known to do that from time to time.”
“Cut the shit. You and I both know that’s not it. He knows you, Stella. Like, really fucking knows you. Tell me how?”
“You’re seeing things.”
“No, I’m fucking not. And you, dear sister, are lying out of your ass.”
“Again, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Kill was probably worried I’d die and start a war because of it. That’s all.” Lucky doesn’t look convinced. Not even a little.
“You just called him Kill. If you don’t know him, then why call him that?”
“You know what? I’m tired,” I say, feigning exhaustion. “Mind if we talk in the morning?”
Lucky glances at my bandaged shoulder and nods. “Sure. I’m just a few rooms away. Call me, and I’ll be here. Unless you want me to stay?”
“No. Frankie needs you now more than ever. I bet she’s all over the place right now.”
“Aren’t we all?” he grumbles, placing a kiss on my temple.
It’s the oddest thing.
“What was that for?”
“I’m just happy you’re alive. Can’t a brother be happy for his sister?”
“Frankie’s a bad influence on you,” I smirk. “She’s made you grow a heart.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” He laughs, adoration swimming in his hazel eyes.
“You really love her, don’t you?”
“More than anything,” he admits, sadness now starting to bleed into him. “I hope these assholes don’t break her heart.”
“They won’t.”
“How can you be so sure? They’re Bratva for crying out loud. Not exactly the poster children for a mentally stable home.”
“They probably think the same about us. And we’re not that bad.” I smile at him sweetly. “Just give the Petrovs a chance. Something tells me that they will move mountains to make Frankie feel at home here.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” he mumbles under his breath, the remark hanging in the air long after he’s gone.
The drugs the Bratva’s doctor has me on knocked me out cold. The next time I wake up, it’s night again. Well, damn. There goes another day. How many hours have I been out this time?
I try to move my shoulder and wince when the ache still burns there.
“Don’t.” I hear a familiar voice call out from the dark corner of the room.
“I thought I told you to leave.”
“You did. But then I remembered something.”
“What, Kill?” I snap, irritated. “What did you remember?”
“That we’re not in Chicago anymore. I’m the one giving orders here.”
“Good luck with that,” I mumble, rolling my eyes.
The room goes silent again, and I force myself not to look in his direction.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, his voice softer now.
“No.”
“Thirsty?”
“No.”
“Are you still angry at me?”
“What do you think?” I counter sarcastically.
“Any idea when you’ll stop being angry at me?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Kill… maybe when my fucking shoulder doesn’t hurt like a bitch when I move.”
“Kill,” he muses. “You can’t be that mad at me if you’re calling me that.”
“How about asshole? Am I angry now?”
Kirill’s soft chuckle loosens the knot in my chest when it has absolutely no right to. And when I hear him push up from his seat and move toward me, I don’t say anything to stop him either.
“Can I lie beside you?” he asks quietly from behind me.
“It’s your house. Apparently, I can’t say no to anything here.”
“You can always say no.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, hating how I don’t have the will to say that one simple word. Kirill takes my silence for consent and gently lifts the covers, then lies behind me.
“Don’t touch me, Kill. I mean it,” I warn, finally finding my wrath.
“Understood.”
But what good is it telling him not to touch me, when I can still feel him everywhere? His presence. His warmth. His quiet breath. Wrapping around me like an invisible embrace. Ugh.
“I never wanted you to get hurt,” he whispers once he’s made sure I’m not going to kick him out of the bed.
“So you keep repeating.”
“I have to repeat it because you don’t believe me.”
“Fine,” I blurt out in aggravation. “You never meant to hurt me. Big whoop. Your men still shot me. Still kidnapped me under your orders. It changes nothing about what you intended, only what actually happened. Haven’t you ever heard that the road to hell is paved with good intentions?”
“You’re right,” he says, the words thick with remorse.
Though I told him not to touch me, I can still feel his fingers lightly brush the ends of my hair, as if he can’t help himself.
“Did your brother tell you what happened? Why I brought you here against your will?” I nod, not wanting to say more than that. “So you understand? You understand it couldn’t be avoided?”
“What I understand is that you prefer brute force over a simple conversation.”
When he starts laughing at my statement softly behind me, I roll onto my back just to see his face. “Are you actually laughing at me right now? Seriously?!”
“I’m not laughing at you, milaya. I would never dream of laughing at your pain. It’s just that—”
“Just what?”
“Well, you haven’t exactly been open to conversation either. I know that if you were in good shape right now, you’d rather beat me black and blue than talk about your real feelings. About why you’re so angry with me. Why you’re so hurt.”
“You think my feelings are hurt?” I seethe, hating the fact that he can read me so well.
“I know they are. You think I used you,” he states, going right to the crux of it.
“Didn’t you?”
“As much as you used me.”
“And how did I ever use you?”
“To get the answers you wanted. To impress your father, if you found anything useful that you could use against us. I don’t know. But I do know you didn’t come to my club alone just because I intrigued you. At least not at first.”
He’s got me there.
“Fine. Maybe I did. So what? Does that make us even?”
“No, milaya. Just equals.”
My brows pinch together at the genuine look in his dark eyes. How can black eyes hold such warmth? Such caring and sincerity? They should look cold and empty. But they don’t. Kirill’s eyes always hold something. I just wish the emotion he’s showing now didn’t affect me the way it does.
Uncomfortable with the look he’s giving me, I shift the topic to safer ground. “So Frankie is your niece.”
“She is,” he says with a small smile.
“And that blind woman you told me about, who was she in the grand scheme of things?”
“My grandmother,” he confesses, gently wrapping a strand of my hair around his finger.
“I had a sense she was important to you.”
“I thought as much.” He smiles tenderly at me, his eyes silently begging for forgiveness. But I’m not there yet. Not yet. “She was the one who raised us when—”
“Your mother died,” I finish, remembering the rest of his story and how she’d passed from a drug overdose. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I don’t remember much about my mother. Mikhail and Aleksandr are the ones who hold most of the trauma she brought into our lives.”
“Still… it must have been hard to grow up without a mother,” I say quietly.
My mother and I butt heads all the time, but the thought of her not being in my life is too much pain to even imagine.
“I had a mother,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “Katya was my mother. She was the one who stepped into that role and raised us.”
“Katya,” I say the name like someone summoning a ghost for a visit. “She was your sister. Frankie’s mom, I’m assuming.”
Kirill nods. “You would have liked her,” he whispers, inching closer and brushing my hair away from my face. “And she would have loved you.” He smiles softly. “Katya always had a strong spirit. Fiercely independent, but protective of her family. You remind me a lot of her in that way.”
I don’t add anything to his statement. I can tell it means something to him just to say the words out loud.
“When I first saw Kira—I mean, Frankie—back at Sacred Heart, I thought I was looking at a mirage. A ghost. There was my sister, alive and well… happy. I don’t think Katya had many happy moments in her life. But I know the day Frankie was born must have been the happiest of them all.”
“What about her father? Who is Frankie’s father?”
“The monster who took our Katya from us.” His soft features turn hard.
“And by ‘took,’ you mean…”
“Killed,” he finishes with a nod. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, cupping his cheek in my palm. He holds my hand there, then presses a tender kiss on its center, before guiding it back to his cheek.
“Do you believe in fate, milaya?” he asks, the question catching me off guard.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. But Frankie finding a home with your family, the same family that led me to you, must mean something.”
“All it means is that Frankie has bad taste in men, if she fell in love with my brother,” I pretend to joke.
“Is that what you honestly think? That love is a joke?”
I swallow, dry and tight, under the intensity of his gaze. “People like us don’t have the luxury of falling in love,” I reply instead.
“Does that mean your heart is closed to the idea of that possibility for us?”
Again, I swallow hard, not missing how that little word us could be interpreted two ways. “I’m saying that in our line of work, there are things you’re better off avoiding. Love being one of those things.”
Kirill shuts his eyes briefly before meeting my gaze again. “Then I guess I’m a fool for thinking otherwise.” And just like that, the warmth he brought with him drains out of the room. “I’ll leave you now. You must be tired.”
However, just as he’s about to slide out of the bed, I find myself doing the last thing I should—asking him to stay. “Kill, don’t go.”
“What would be the point?” he says sorrowfully, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to me.
“Give me one reason why I should stay?” I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out.
“That’s what I thought.” He rises from the bed and walks toward the door.
“I’ll make sure someone watches over you, just in case you need anything. ”
“Kill—”
“Goodnight, Stella.”